


Let Me Love

by Melibe



Series: The New Plan [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Beelzebub has a flat hairy chest, Beelzebub has fly eyes sometimes, Bottom Beelzebub, Crying, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Love Confessions, Multiple Orgasms, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, They love each other, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Top Gabriel, but look none of that is the point, in case it wasn't clear, that's my point, the point is, this is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: “Harder,” demands Beelzebub, shifting one hand to tug on Gabriel’s hair. “It’zz not like I’m going to fall apart.”“But I want you to.” He looks up with eyes that have darkened considerably, smiling now with a hint of menace. “I’m going totakeyou apart. And you’re going to love it.”
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: The New Plan [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569919
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for the smut that's referenced in the final chapter of [Make Game of That...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129728/chapters/50283776) and I thought, "it would be fun to read but I definitely can't write it" and then ummmmm . . . I wrote it. Yeah. I hope it's satisfactory???
> 
> The title, simple as it is, is borrowed from John Donne's [The Canonization](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44097/the-canonization).

“How does it feel, Beelz?” 

Gabriel is rubbing some ludicrously expensive eucalyptus-and-grapefruit oil into the scars on Beelzebub’s back. They’re certain the archangel got scammed by the upscale boutique that sold it to him, and there was a time when they would have gloated for days over such an obvious triumph of evil over good. But now they just make a mental note to curse the boutique with cockroaches, and answer Gabriel’s question.

“Feelz damn good.” And because they’ve been living among humans, whose meaningless niceties must be contagious, Beelzebub adds, “Thankzz.”

“You’re welcome!” Gabriel sounds too proud of himself. Beelzebub lets out a grunt of annoyance, followed quickly by a grunt of pleasure as his fingers dig into a knot on one shoulder.

Ever since they both lost their wings—Beelzebub to Satan’s jealous claws, and Gabriel to the judgmental blades of his colleagues—they’ve been caring for each other’s scars. Tonight it’s Beelzebub’s turn, so they’re lying prone and shirtless on the king-size bed they share with Gabriel. He’s stripped down to his favorite sweatpants, straddling their hips as he works on their back. 

Beelzebub likes the solid weight of the angel on top of them, the warm press of his thumbs on either side of their spine. If only he would stop talking.

“I love your skin,” he says, pouring more oil on his hands and spreading it around their lower back. “And I love all your hairs; they’re like little feathers. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Can it,” mutters Beelzebub. “I’m hairy like a fly. I’m the _Lord of the Fliezz_.”

“Mm-hmm, and they’re very beautiful, too.” 

About a dozen of the insects in question are buzzing erratically around the bed, drunk on the scent of the oil. Perhaps later Beelzebub will remind Gabriel that grapefruit is citrus, and citrus is supposed to be a fly repellent, just so they can enjoy his horrified apology. For now, the “repellent” is working as well as it ever does—which is to say, not very. Beelzebub and their flies aren’t going anywhere.

One of Gabriel’s hands lifts from their back and doesn’t immediately return. Beelzebub stretches out their senses to borrow the vision of their flies, and gets a multi-faceted closeup of the archangel’s face. He’s gazing in adoration at a fly perched on his knuckle.

Beelzebub shifts irritably. “Weren’t you in the middle of zzomething?”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” The thumb of his other hand strokes up the back of Beelzebub’s neck, and a whimper escapes their lips. Damn it, Gabriel knows that’s a sensitive spot.

“I love the sounds you make,” he says with an audible grin.

“Yeah, I can tell.” They feel his cock start to harden against their backside. “Wanna fuck?”

Gabriel, hypocrite that he is, clicks his tongue at Beelzebub’s vulgarity. As if he hasn’t talked far filthier to them. As if the massage oil has never been repurposed as lube, as if these sessions have never turned into a mess of rutting and thrusting, fists in each other’s hair, greedy mouths locked together.

Tending to Beelzebub’s scars used to make Gabriel angry. He was angry at Satan for torturing his lover, but also at Beelzebub for provoking it, and at himself for the unknowing role he’d played. Beelzebub had asked Gabriel to mark them, then worn the marks back to Hell in a passive-aggressive and not-entirely-conscious bid to piss off their boss enough to get exiled. It had worked, though Beelzebub hadn’t counted on losing their wings as part of the deal, nor had they expected Gabriel to meet a similar fate when Heaven got involved.

So Beelzebub’s scars make Gabriel mad, and that’s fine. Because the demon lord _loves_ Gabriel’s rage, can’t get enough of it. His holy touch always feels a little too warm on their damned skin, but anger makes it _burn_ , and this pain is Beelzebub’s sweetest pleasure. The first few times he massaged their back, his hands were gentle but his fury scorched through them, lighting up all the demon’s nerves until they were sweating and squirming on the bed, reaching down to finger themselves into a desperate orgasm. And when they spread their legs wider, Gabriel accepted the invitation, fucking them every bit as furiously as they wanted him to.

Tonight, though, he’s in a different sort of mood. “I want to love you,” he whispers as he lies down, carefully blanketing Beelzebub’s slender body with his own, taking most of his weight on his forearms. He kisses the tops of their shoulders, then the back of their neck, teasing the skin there with soft lips and warm breath. “Let me love you.”

“Azz if I could zztop you,” Beelzebub mutters into the mattress, already more aroused than they’d like to admit. Every breath drags their hardening nipples against the sheet. Every heartbeat sends another hot rush of blood straight to their cunt.

Gabriel lifts himself up so that he can flip Beelzebub onto their back. The demon scowls up at him, expecting his usual too-wide smile, but he’s wearing a much softer expression. “You know you can always stop me,” he says quietly. “If you want to.”

The depth of feeling in his voice and his eyes causes something to flutter in the pit of Beelzebub’s stomach. They’re inclined to call it fear, because even after all these years they’re not a big fan of naming the alternative. Every _love_ Gabriel speaks makes their skin crawl, and it’s ten times worse to let the word pass their own lips.

“I know,” they snap, reaching up to flick one of his nipples. “Get on with it.”

Gabriel smiles indulgently and shifts his weight to one arm. With the other hand he cups their face, thumb stroking their cheek as he leans in to kiss them. Beelzebub tries to deepen it, swiping their tongue over his lips, but he pulls back to drop stupid little kisses on their nose and forehead. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers into one ear, then kisses their earlobe.

“Ugh,” groans Beelzebub. They need way more contact, way more friction. They twist the archangel’s nipple, then the other one for good measure, and Gabriel’s breath gets heavier but he doesn’t return the favor. His lower body is angled away so they can’t feel his erection anymore, which is utter bullshit. And they’ve both still got _clothes_ on. Beelzebub fixes that with a snap of their fingers.

Gabriel leans back, looking disappointed. “I wanted to do that.”

“Well too bad, I did it.” Beelzebub glares. “Are you _pouting_?”

His violet eyes are as bright as they’ve ever seen. “Come on, Beelz. Please let me?”

With another, extremely aggravated snap, Beelzebub’s slacks and Gabriel’s sweatpants reappear. “Do you want our zztupid zhirtzz back too?”

“No, this is fine. Thank you, you’re so good to me.” He lowers his head again to nuzzle the side of their neck and lay kisses along their collarbone.

Beelzebub slides their hands from Gabriel’s chest to his shoulders and back. If he’s determined to dawdle, they might as well explore the glorious muscles on display. As they trace his perfectly defined deltoids, his mouth reaches their chest, licking, tasting, approaching one nipple with lazy intent. Their fingers find the ice-smooth skin of his wing scars and a barely perceptible shiver runs through him, but it doesn’t divert or hasten his course. He closes his mouth around their nipple so softly it almost tickles.

“Harder,” demands Beelzebub, shifting one hand to tug on Gabriel’s hair. “It’zz not like I’m going to fall apart.”

“But I want you to.” He looks up with eyes that have darkened considerably, smiling now with a hint of menace. “I’m going to _take_ you apart. And you’re going to love it.”

Beelzebub realizes they’re panting and wonder when that started. “You’re zzo zzure of that?”

“I am.” Gabriel presses another kiss to their mouth, sweet and chaste.

But they can smell his arousal, and they can see his stiff cock stretching the fabric of his sweatpants. They twist their hips to shove one thigh up between his, pleased with the hungry sound it elicits. “I don’t think you _can_ go zzlow. You want me _bad_. I give it twenty minutezz of thizz tender szhit before you loze control and fuck my brainzz out.”

“Hmm. Let’s see, shall we?”

Gabriel keeps kissing them, moving along their jaw and down their throat. His fingers trail through the wiry hair scattered across their chest, gently circling each nipple. He seems all but unaffected by the way Beelzebub grinds viciously against his hip, rubbing their thigh along his cock.

Their hands continue to roam across his back. His physical scars are less dramatic than Beelzebub’s; Uriel and Sandalphon gave him the courtesy of a clean cut. Still, Beelzebub knows the unexpected rejection by his fellow angels hurt Gabriel in ways they don’t know how to begin to care for. The demon may have been tortured, but it didn’t exactly come as a surprise. They’ve accepted the loss of their wings as the price for escaping Satan’s thrall, for ditching Hell to screw around on Earth with their favorite archangel. Gabriel, however, didn’t see any of it coming.

He’s adapted well to life on Earth—venturing into human politics alongside Beelzebub, playing the flute with a Hindu _kirtan_ group on the first Friday of each month—but they can tell he still misses Heaven.

So maybe he needs this. Maybe something about caring for Beelzebub, lavishing all this gross affection on them, helps soothe his sense of loss. If so, they won’t begrudge him that comfort.

But oh, how they wish he’d hurry up.

Gabriel’s tongue is at their belly now, licking trails through the sparse dark hair. His hand slides between their legs to brush the damp fabric of their slacks—a pair of crimson capri flares, very on trend. He rubs two fingers slowly over the wet patch and watches it grow with evident satisfaction. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, then adds conscientiously, “We’ll have to wash these.”

“I did try to—get rid of them—before they got wet.” Beelzebub’s breath hitches as they push toward his fingers, his mouth, any stimulation he’ll give them.

Gabriel laughs. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning.” He unfastens the slacks, tugging them down just enough to expose the part of Beelzebub that aches most for his attention. When he discovers there’s nothing else in his way, he glances up at them with equal parts amusement and arousal.

Beelzebub rolls their eyes. Like he doesn’t know their preferences by now. Underwear is one of many superfluous options they can’t be bothered with, like breasts ( _they_ weren’t going to be the one feeding the Antichrist, now were they?) and cocks (Gabriel’s is fine, but Beelzebub finds manifesting one more trouble than it’s worth).

He leaves the softest of kisses on the black hair covering their mound, then pulls their slacks the rest of the way off, kissing down their thighs, knees, calves and ankles as he goes. Then he gets up from the bed to step out of his sweatpants.

Beelzebub’s eyes drink in his body. Every inch of it is obnoxiously beautiful, sculpted to perfection by the Almighty’s hand. Looking at Gabriel, it’s impossible to forget for a single second that he is an angel. Beelzebub finds it repulsive—so repulsive, in fact, that it might be the reason they were attracted to him in the first place. After wallowing in Hell for six thousand years, it was hard to find anything truly transgressive to do. Fucking an archangel thrilled them like nothing had since the Fall.

Gabriel climbs back onto the bed and takes one of Beelzebub’s hands, kissing the palm and the pad of their thumb. His lips are tender, almost worshipful, his eyes meeting theirs as he mouths the words _I love you_ into their wrist.

No, Beelzebub has to admit it couldn’t have been just any archangel. It had to be Gabriel. Even before the end times, when their meetings were rare and stiff with hostility, he’d never been put off by however many flies or open sores Beelzebub chose to manifest. Now that they’re lovers, his admiration is unbounded. 

_I’m disgusting_ , Beelzebub all but screams at him, and Gabriel gazes back with holy conviction and answers, _You’re beautiful._

It might have been too much for them to handle, might have sent them crawling back into the Pit, if they hadn’t seen through to Gabriel’s darkness. His entire demeanor may shout to the heavens, _I am pure and good_ , but Beelzebub can give him the side-eye and sneer, _You’re a filthy sadist._

So, whatever saccharine game he’s playing tonight, they’re sure it won’t last. While he kisses from their wrist to their elbow, they reach for his cock with their free hand, fingers sliding expertly around the hot length. For a second his mouth presses harder against their skin and they tense in eager expectation of a bite, but it doesn’t come. So they bring their hand to their mouth, get it wet and messy with saliva, and go back to work on his cock, pumping hard.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then pulls their hand away. “Not now, Beelz. I’m taking care of you tonight.”

They spread their legs wider. “No reazzon you can’t do both. Come on, zztick it in me.”

“All in good time,” he insists, and when Beelzebub ignores this and grabs for his cock again, he slides down the bed, out of reach. His face ends up over their cunt, and this time it looks like he’s actually going to do something about it. One hand slides under them, squeezing gently, while the other parts their dripping, swollen lips for the most intimate of kisses.

“Fuck!” exclaims Beelzebub, the touch of his tongue like a lightning strike to their whole overheated, over-sensitized body. They wouldn’t mind if it hurt, like real lightning, but Gabriel won’t give them that. There’s no pain at all, just overwhelming softness that prickles in their eyes and clogs their throat. He lifts one of their thighs over his shoulder to get a better angle, nudging his tongue inside them.

“More, go on, you azzhole, give me more!” Beelzebub means to demand, but it's closer to a whine. This slow tender lovemaking is cracking them open in all kinds of ways they’re not prepared for. With their hands on his head they try to pull him closer, speed him up, but when Gabriel doesn’t want to move he’s like fucking granite. He licks delicately at their labia, savoring.

They consider manifesting a swarm of mosquitoes to bite him, or some botflies to lay eggs on him. That’ll drive anyone mad.

Then again, with the mood Gabriel’s in, he’d probably run a reverent finger over the maggots burrowing into his skin and say, “They’re beautiful, Beelz, just like you.”

Besides, Beelzebub's concentration is shot and they’re so horny the insects would just sit on the pillow copulating their little hearts out. Gabriel’s tongue finds their clit and gives it a single tantalizing lick. “Damn you to the bottom of the ninth zzircle,” they gasp. “You’re cruel, izz what you are.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, licking again. “That’s why you love me, isn’t it?”

Beelzebub growls, which would be a lot more menacing if they weren’t naked and squirming with one leg over Gabriel’s shoulder. They don’t tell him how they feel, as a rule, and they don’t appreciate him putting words in their mouth. After six millennia of despising and plotting to annihilate him, six decades hasn’t been quite enough to get comfortable with the idea that they want to keep him around after all.

One of his hands spiders up their stomach to rediscover their nipples, rubbing and tugging. Beelzebub writhes. “Damn your handzz and—ahh!—damn your _fucking_ tongue!” He keeps teasing their clit, licking hard enough to make them sweat but too lightly to get them off. “Come on and give it to me, you szhit!”

Gabriel lifts his head to look at them, face smeared with their juices. He’s grinning, for Hell’s sake, while Beelzebub is shaking and feverish, losing their goddamn mind.

They’ve had just about enough of this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched fly vision for this; you're welcome or I'm sorry depending on how you feel about compound eyes in smut??? Ommatidia are the little units that make up a fly's eye. FYI.

Gabriel doesn’t like pain, doesn’t get off on it the way Beelzebub does, and they don’t enjoy hurting him for its own sake. But it can be useful for other purposes. They reach down and drag their nails across his back, carving deep into the skin.

“Fuck!” yells Gabriel. He lunges up to grab Beelzebub’s arms and force them back into the mattress. “Right on my scars, Beelz, what the _hell_?”

He’s angry. Beelzebub hears it sharpen his voice, sees it flicker in his eyes, and most of all they feel it burn through the fingers wrapped around their biceps. They sigh in relief, taking a hit of Gabriel’s fury like the finest drug. Now he’ll go harder, faster. Now he’ll brutalize them, and they can’t _wait_.

“Oh, I see,” says Gabriel. He deliberately relaxes his grip. “You’re getting desperate, aren’t you?”

The archangel’s anger fades away, and Beelzebub almost cries out with frustration. They watch Gabriel drop one hand over the side of the bed and bring it up full of silk. 

“I had a feeling you might need these,” he says, gently looping a silk scarf around each of their wrists. Then he stretches their arms overhead and ties them to the bedposts.

He’s so calm and confident that Beelzebub doesn’t even struggle, just lies there momentarily stunned. Gabriel has pinned them plenty of times with his hands and his body, exerting angelic strength to hold them down as they fight against him. That’s perfectly normal, sex between them an extension of their age-old animosity. _This_ is just _strange_.

“There we go, you lovely thing.” Gabriel’s eyes are alight with devotion. His fingertips trail down their arms. “So very good for me, aren’t you?”

That jolts Beelzebub back into action. They yank on the restraints, snapping their teeth at him. “I hardly think you’d have to tie me up if I wazz being _good_.”

“Oh, but you are.” He pets their hair earnestly. “You’re taking this so well. Letting me love you.”

They snarl and hiss and spit in his face. Their aim is supernaturally good, but so are Gabriel’s reflexes. The glob of spit lands in his hair instead of his eye. He brushes it away.

“None of that,” he says, still warm and affectionate. “I’d hate to have to gag you. There are so many better ways to use your mouth.”

“Yeah?” snaps Beelzebub. They run their tongue around their lips as lasciviously as possible. “Why don’t you fuck it, then? Go on, szhove your cock down my throat, make me—”

He quiets them with a touch. “Not this time.” His fingers trace over their cheeks and chin. “This time I want to cherish you. You deserve it.” He hums. “Let’s see, where was I?”

While Beelzebub tugs on their bindings and curses a blue streak, Gabriel slides down the bed and repositions himself between their thighs. He spreads their labia with one hand and gives them a long, slow lick before getting down to business.

Their insults fall apart into meaningless sounds of mounting pleasure. As Gabriel sucks and tongues their clit, he teases one finger around their opening, then buries it inside. The penetration feels great, but it’s so much less than they _need_ , and Gabriel—who has learned a few things about his partner over the years—quickly adds another.

He works Beelzebub so deftly with fingers and tongue that they feel played, like the damn flute of which they are definitely never in any way jealous, no matter how lovingly Gabriel puts it to his lips.

“Oh fuck,” they gasp, and “Oh pleazzze,” and then their thighs clench around Gabriel’s head, a wave of pleasure lifting their hips off the bed.

Gabriel licks them patiently through the climax and its aftershocks. When he slides up to lie beside them, he leaves his fingers buried in their heat. “My lovely demon, my lord Beelzebub,” he whispers, his smile so bright they have to look away.

Then his thumb finds their too-sensitive clit, and they almost shriek.

“Gabriel, _pleazze_!” Beelzebub has never told Gabriel, although he’s obviously figured it out, how much they love to beg when they’re with him. It's a relief to let their hunger spill out, raw and desperate, after centuries of apathy and indifference in Hell. “Pleazze, I juzzzt—I can’t. Pleazzzzze.”

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he murmurs, with a gentle thrust of his fingers.

If Beelzebub’s hands weren’t tied, they’d slap him for suggesting it. As it is, their words shake the bed, bone-rattlingly deep. _DON’T YOU FUCKING ZZTOP._

“Sh, shh,” Gabriel soothes, kissing their forehead. “It’s okay, beautiful. I won’t stop. Don’t give yourself a sore throat.”

“Zzincze when do you care?” they rasp.

“I always care.” He moves to their mouth, nibbling gently on their lower lip. “Even when I’m hurting you. I always want to make it good for you.”

“Then fuck me already!”

He chuckles. His thumb rubs circles over their clit, making them writhe. “There’s no hurry. We’ll get there. God, you’re absolutely gorgeous like this.”

Beelzebub figures they’ve soaked through the sheets and into the mattress by now. They feel wet enough to lube up a fucking jet engine. “More, pleazze more,” they sob, and Gabriel must remember a little bit about mercy, because he pushes a third finger inside them.

His fingers are long and thick and satisfying. When he curves them all and presses on Beelzebub’s inner walls, their hips buck up and their hands clench into fists around the silk ties. He keeps going like this, watching intently as each new position of his hand draws out new whimpers and pleas.

The focused attention is practically setting Beelzebub on fire. They’d much prefer Gabriel to be pleasing himself at the same time—his cock is as hard as they’ve ever seen it, leaking and twitching with every noise they make—but he seems content to ignore it.

“I love you, Beelzebub,” he says as he works them back to the edge. “And I admire you. I admire your fierce spirit, your sarcasm and your strength. We both know you could rip this silk to shreds, but you won’t. You’re letting me give this to you, letting yourself feel it.”

They let out a long broken wail. Fucking Gabriel! Why does he always have to _say_ everything? Beelzebub prefers feelings (and everything else) to fester, out of sight, in the dark. Then Gabriel comes along, cheerfully ripping off scabs like a medieval butcher of a doctor.

Their body moves of its own accord, arching toward Gabriel and then away. He doesn’t try to hold them still, he just follows relentlessly. This is the archangel who broke into their office in Hell to apologize because it was _the right thing to do_ , who met the Adversary in single combat to defend Beelzebub without a thought for his own safety. He’s too fucking much, and they’ll never get enough.

“Hate you,” Beelzebub sobs, clinging to the silk that binds their wrists, an anchor in the storm of sensation. Gabriel smiles, and with a clever twist of his fingers he knocks them over into ecstasy.

Their second orgasm is quieter, deeper, blazing through them until everything is consumed. It leaves Beelzebub floating, not sure if their body is even still in its proper shape. They can barely feel the bed, but they can hear Gabriel’s voice with uncanny clarity.

“Beelz, can you look at me? I want to see you.”

They didn’t realize their eyes were closed. They open them, because Gabriel asked them to, because apparently they’re wrecked to the point of doing whatever he asks without a second thought.

And when Beelzebub opens their eyes, their vision gifts them with hundreds of Gabriels—all wearing the same comical expression of surprise.

They know how they must look to him right now, fly eyes bugging out of their human face. They stare at him belligerently with all one thousand and six hundred ommatidia. “Th’ fuck are y’looking at?”

A tidal wave of love rushes into Gabriel’s face. The additive effect is almost blinding. “Oh, my prince,” he breathes. “You are so, so beautiful.”

“You did thizz to me, azzhole,” they mutter. These eyes don’t focus, so everything is fuzzy and fractured. But they can discern more colors, and now Beelzebub sees an ultraviolet glow behind the deep purple of Gabriel’s eyes. Fuck, he’s so beautiful it hurts. “You made me lozze control.”

“I’m glad.” His grin could almost be called evil. He rolls one of their nipples between his fingers, his other hand dragging lazily through the mess between their thighs. “I love to see you like this.”

Beelzebub shudders, bites their lip, and manages to get one of their legs between Gabriel’s to rub his swollen cock. “Need you in me.” They put every single degree of burning desire into their voice, into the hot press of skin on skin. “Come on, give it, give me.”

“So demanding, my pretty little prince.” He moves his wet fingers to his cock, spreading the slick around without even looking, eyes still locked on Beelzebub’s. “All right. Because I love you.”

“Bullzzhit, zz’becauzze my cunt feelzz so damn good.”

He laughs breathlessly as he positions himself over them. “That, too.” He slides in to the hilt with one thrust, and a look of wonder passes over his face. “Oh God, Beelz, it feels fucking excellent.”

The idiot archangel won’t break eye contact, and so Beelzebub can’t look away either. His glorious eyes are multiplied in their own, lighting up the whole stupid world. Suddenly they realize they’re blinking and swallowing as tears leak down the sides of their face.

They’ve cried before—rarely—but never from their compound eyes. It feels fucking weird.

Gabriel touches their cheek tenderly as he rocks his hips, easing in and out. “My own beloved.”

Beelzebub tries viciously and uselessly to hold back a new flood of tears. He’s not supposed to _say_ shit like that. They let Gabriel shorten their name because it prevents him from using any other endearments, but those unspoken rules must have been thrown out the window tonight.

At least he’s finally fucking them. They’re so wet there’s hardly any friction, and although they’ve always wanted it rough, with a bit of a stretch, tonight this feels perfect and right. Tears keep running down the sides of their face and wetting their hair and their ears. It’s stupid, but also perfect in its own way.

Gabriel pauses his rhythm to stroke the hair back from their face and kiss their wet cheeks.

“Zzzatizzfied? That y’made me cry?” Beelzebub is too lost to form a proper snarl.

“I’m only—satisfied—if you are.”

He works one arm under their shoulders so he can hold them close as he thrusts into them, and the intimacy of the embrace fills their chest with something warm and uncomfortably soft. They can’t wrap their own arms around him, so they grab him with their legs instead, raising their hips to meet his. They press their mouth to Gabriel’s and find his kisses hungrier now, tongue pushing between their lips with the same urgency they can feel in his cock.

So Beelzebub bends their knees to encourage him deeper and tightens around him. Even with their hands tied, they know how to send him over the edge. Seconds later he’s gasping his release into their shoulder, cock pulsing inside them. They relish the feeling, milking it out of him and loving the way he shudders on the edge of overstimulation.

It’s a relief to make Gabriel come. Sure, he nearly drowned them with love, but now it’s over and the maelstrom of feelings swirling around their heart will calm down.

And then that fucking asshole pulls out, slides down the bed, shoves his face into the swamp between Beelzebub’s legs, and licks their clit until they come _yet again_.

They’re too wrung out to make much noise and they can’t tear at his hair like they want to. All they can do is lock their thighs around his head and sob through it, their whole body trembling as pleasure sizzles in every nerve.

“I love you zzo fucking much,” Beelzebub blurts out, because the ache in their chest, eating them up from belly to throat, can only be assuaged by this preposterous confession.

“Thank you." Gabriel's halo is visible in every wavelength of light that Beelzebub can see, and then some. “Thank you.”

Beelzebub shuts their eyes against the brightness as Gabriel reaches up to untie their wrists. When they open them again there’s just one Gabriel, in the usual color palette.

But he’s frowning. “I meant it when I said your eyes are beautiful. You don’t have to hide them.”

“’M not hiding.” Compound eyes aren’t the easiest way to see the world. Beelzebub waves an exhausted hand toward their blue-gray human eyes. “Thezze are my eyezz too.”

“And I love them, of course!” He pauses, and they can tell he's still trying to figure something out. “Crowley can’t just change his eyes like that, can he?”

“Crowley’zz not _me_.” Beelzebub is too tired to explain that the Fallen all have some mark they cannot change. Crowley has his eyes; Dagon has her teeth. Satan has—well, best not to think about that. “I can change my eyezz, but I couldn’t zztop buzzing if I wanted to.”

“I love your buzzing.”

“Fuck off.”

Grinning, Gabriel rolls out of bed and gets to his feet. “Beelz, can I pick you up?”

“Whatever.” They peer at him suspiciously as he scoops them into his arms. “What are you up to now?”

He carries them into the living room, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s called aftercare. Aziraphale told me about it.”

Beelzebub groans. “Hellfire prezzerve uzz.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Click here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129728/chapters/51488974) for aftercare!
> 
> Let’s all take a moment to thank [TheDreamer240](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreamer240/pseuds/TheDreamer240) for prompting this . . . um. Whatever this was.
> 
> Thank you for every comment and kudos. Y’all are the best.


End file.
